Page 35 of Confessions of a Smutty Romance Author

“What’s your car named?” she asked.

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “Grown men don’t name their vehicles. Unless it’s a boat, then it can be named, but only after the woman you love.”

“So we should name it after your mom?” she teased.

“Hardee har har,” I said. Although, she made a good point.

“Maybe I shouldn’t name this car,” she said, “because I don’t want to get too attached. It would be like cheating on Bertha.”

The sincere way she said it had me laughing. “Bertha doesn’t have feelings, Mara.”

“Shh,” she said as if the pickup could hear her from miles away.

I turned down the street, seeing her headlights follow behind me.

“I love this neighborhood,” she said. “My realtor even took me to a showing down the street. Do you live here?”

“Yeah. Just around the corner here.” I slowed my car and parked in front of the mid-century modern home I’d purchased just a couple years ago. I’d saved for years to be able to afford the down payment on it.

I didn’t really need a house this nice just for me, but when I’d been searching, I couldn’t help but wonder what a woman would think about my home. I wanted whoever I stayed with long term to love my home as much as she loved me.

“This is me,” I said on the phone and switched off my car.

I waited until Mara had gotten out of Trouble (alright, so I was already claiming the name) to hang up.

She looked between me and the house. “Why did I picture you living in a two-story farmhouse with white siding and blue shutters?”

“Like inThe Notebook?” I asked,instantlyregretting it.

Mara’s smile was bigger than I’d seen it all night. “You’ve seenThe Notebook?”

“Mom and Tess made me,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“Uh huh.” She eyed me closely. “Look at me without smiling and tell me you didn’t cry at the end.” My goddamn lips flinched, and she shouted, “Ha!”

“Come on,” I said, walking toward my front door. “You’re a romance author. You can’t say you don’t appreciate a man who likes romantic movies.”

“That’s a double negative,” she said. Then, “I like your wreath.”

I couldn’t tell if she was teasing me about the flower door ornament or not, but just in case, I said, “Mom and Tess do these virtual crafting nights, and somethingalwaysfinds its way to my house.”

She laughed. “That sounds so fun. Birdie and I keep meaning to do one of those wine and paint nights.”

“Tell my mom. I’m sure she’d love to have you both over.”

She smiled for a moment, but it seemed to fall so quickly. I tried not to think about why as I unlocked my door and swung it open for her. She stepped into the dark hallway, but I flicked on the light, showing the front entrance with stone floors and art carefully selected by Tess, my self-appointed interior designer.

Mara stepped farther inside, holding her backpack straps, looking around. I watched her closely, trying to tell what she thought. If she liked it.

She reached out and gently touched a cracked glass vase filled with stems and artificial flowers. “This is pretty.”

“Tess,” I said in explanation.

I led her farther into the house, showing her the living room on the way to the kitchen.

Mara’s lips pressed together at my living room, and I asked, “What?”

She gestured at the couch Tess had helped me find. “How are you supposed to watch movies on this couch? It doesn’t look squishy at all.”

---